


Time After Time

by AnathemaAuthoress



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Elaborate Backstories, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Humor, Geralt's lives are complicated, Human/Witcher, Jaskier is his own descendant, Monster of the Week, Multi, Reincarnation, Same names, Witchers are secret now, a little of Geralt's internalized homophobia, but there is a reason for why, convenient destiny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnathemaAuthoress/pseuds/AnathemaAuthoress
Summary: Geralt likes his large, beautiful apartment on the upper end of town, sadly he hasn't had much luck with his previous roommates. Fortunately, a friend of a friend needs a place to stay and Geralt has his work cut out for him.Not only will he have to deal with a pestersome freelance musician on his down time, he'll also have to prevent the nosy bastard from finding out what Geralt truly does for a living.***In this universe, Geralt and Jaskier lived out their canon-driven lives and eventually died. Hundreds of years later they are reincarnated and find each other again. Will it turn out better for them this time? Or will things play out like they always do?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 64
Kudos: 308





	1. If you're lost you can look and you will find me

It hadn’t worked out again, and likely wouldn’t work out the time after. Yet there he was, radiant eyes cast down at the glowing screen, searching poorly typed listings. After a while they all started to blur together, to look to Geralt as though they all harkened one message, one that broadcasted firmly, with distinct rigidity, that all people were morons.

“You’re never going to be able to keep a roommate with your attitude,” Kelly laughed. Then, to avoid answering for her slight, she took a long drink from her vanilla bean Starbucks latte.

“Hmm,” Geralt huffed and finally flitted his eyes from his screen to her face.

Kelly was almost soothing to look at in comparison to the tiny text he’d been scrolling. She was pretty and short enough to barely meet level with the table where she sat. She had brown hair to her shoulders, glimmering green eyes, and a nose just a little too large for her face. Geralt was used to looking at her, given that she was one of his very few friends, but in moments when his eyes needed reprieve, he was grateful for her easy looks.

Seeing that he didn’t plan to retaliate, Kelly popped off her latte with a sigh. She licked her lips free of the milky residue, tilted her head to the side, and gazed thoughtfully at her companion, as if she was contemplating whether or not she had something to say.

“What?” Geralt pretended to look back at his work, then back to her. “What?” The second ask was louder, which made his very faint accent more apparent and his deep voice more booming. Some other patrons looked toward him and he hunched his large shoulders and quieted, trying to appear invisible. Of course, his long, shiny white hair pulled up in a ponytail that's edges swished over a maroon turtleneck which barely concealed bulging muscles made that nearly impossible. Everything about the man was large and attention-drawing.

Kelly snickered. “I was just wondering if you’d be a good fit is all.”

“A good fit? With what?” 

“With whom.”

“Alright. Wait what?” Geralt’s brows wove together in confusion and he set his phone on the table to free his hands up for the coffee with two sugars he’d order long enough ago that it was almost too cold to be satisfying. 

“I have a friend–”

“You have several,” Geralt inserted.

“Right. But I have one coming in from overseas. He’s moving back to his hometown,” Kelly said slowly, as if this information was very vital.

“Where’s that?”

“Keep up, Geralt, it’s here. He’s been in France for the last year with his parents, but he’s setting out on his own. He has steady income, he’s smart, friendly.”

“He’s looking for a place to stay,” Geralt drawled, finally catching on.

Kelly’s smile was mischievous. “You’d like him!”

“You know I wouldn’t.”

“You wouldn’t, but you’d like his finances. Did I mention his work is steady?”

“You did. What does he do?” Geralt stared into the dark liquid sloshing in his foam cup. It concealed his interest, he thought. He wasn’t really interested of course, in the sense someone else might be, but at the moment he was strapped for cash and keeping his apartment was a top priority. 

“He’s a musician and–”

“No.”

“What do you mean no? He’s very good. He’s still establishing himself, but–”

“Musicians are noisy.”

“People are noisy, Geralt. You have to stop being so picky.” Kelly, frustrated, began to spin the foam in her plastic cup round and round with her straw as she spoke.

“I’ll do no such thing. I can’t share my quarters with someone I can’t tolerate.”

“Well, Brinx still wants you to move in with him doesn’t he?”

They both knew very well he did, but Kelly hadn’t asked to reaffirm. She had done so to remind Geralt that his options were indeed limited.

“I like my apartment,” Geralt seethed, but he was worn down by her words. “If your friend is so well off why was he living with his parents well into his twenties? He is old enough to be my roommate?”

“Late twenties, same as us. He’s a military brat.”

“So his father can fight, doesn’t explain his dependency.” 

“ _ His mother _ is a high-up sergeant type. They move her around a lot. Her husband is an environmental activist, my friend helps with that.”

“He sounds very loud,” Geralt huffed.

“He really needs a place. He has the first month’s rent ready. He just needs someone to split with for a place nicer than downtown. Your place is much nicer. It’d only be for a month, Geralt. Please? Give him a chance?”

“I don’t–”

“Or! You could keep perusing Craigslist for drug addicts and serial killers. Lord knows your last three roomies were so much better.”

Geralt set down his cup–the icy fluid tasted like shit anyway–and folded his hands. He grinned wearily and leaned forward so he was gazing directly into Kelly’s eyes. “One. Month. If he annoys me–”

“He’s gone! Understood. Worst case it gives you both time to find other arrangements.”

“Mmm,” Geralt hummed in agreement. Time was a vital commodity. A little extra couldn’t hurt. Maybe it would lend him enough to find a better source of income. Heaven knew his job didn’t really pay the bills. 

“I think it’ll last though. You two are my best friends in the world. If you like me, you’re bound to like each other, right? Oh, and he’s got a funny name like you!”

“It’s not funny, it’s foreign. Where is he from?”

“Germany originally, but he’s been all over! I can’t wait for you guys to meet,” Kelly said, enthusiastically.

Her chipper disposition only made Geralt more nervous. He sincerely hoped this guy wasn’t too much to handle.

*** 

“Oooh! Dreamweaver, I believe you can get me through the niiiight!” Came the bellows of the tall man bee-bopping his way from the baggage turnstile up toward the airport lobby. He dragged a Batman suitcase behind him in one hand while his other clasped one of the oversized speakers of the neon blue headphones he wore and simultaneously had rendered useless with his wailing. His hips, slender and clad in skinny jeans, swiveled left and right in time with his motions as he more danced than strolled through disinterested passerby on his way to the front of the building.

Jaskier Böhm, a twenty-eight year old freelancer, was tickled pink that he was just a short time away from meeting one of the men he’d heard so much about from his old highschool friend and long-time penpal, Kelly York. This man to whom he was to be acquainted, was set to be Jaskier’s roommate. The musician was sure they’d get along fine. 

As he happily made his way out the electric doors, he was pleased to see his scheduled Uber was already there waiting for him. Kelly would have come to get him herself, but she had warned that she’d need time to help Jaskier’s future roomie prepare. It was fine, Jaskier was the social type and didn’t have a problem riding with strangers.

He tossed his sole bag in the trunk, yanked off his headphones so the sound faintly played about his head, and boldly slid into the passenger’s seat.

The driver looked surprised, but quickly rattled off the destination address and price Jaskier had already confirmed online. 

“Yep, that’s me. Cool if I sit here?”

The driver smiled, thankfully either charmed or else at least unbothered by the outgoing man and the thick accent that made him all the more becoming. “That’s fine. People just don’t usually want to.”

“Better view. I haven’t been in America for years! I want to see everything, since I’ll be staying a while. Oh! I’m Jaskier by the way, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The driver laughed. “Nice to meet you, I’m Eric. So what’s at Lockwood Lane?”

“A friend, maybe two. Maybe a room, maybe destiny!” Jaskier joked, not understanding how right he truly was. “So, Eric, have you got a SoundCloud?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to post this a few days ago, but I had to finish the last few episodes of The Witcher first for inspiration. I already have tons of ideas for the lore in this fiction and I hope I have time to tackle it all. Let me know what you thought! I'll try to update soon!


	2. You say, “Go slow”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier finally meet.

The initial meeting of the two men probably should have held some great weight, or purpose, given the history stored in the subconscious memory of the world which held secrets that had gone long unspoken. However, it was instead about as annoying as Geralt had figured.

“I’m glad we didn’t have to clean much. Your house is always so tidy,” Kelly praised as she stood to walk around the living room for the fourth time since arriving. 

“Pacing kicks up dust,” Geralt said pointedly.

“I’m just anxious. He’ll be here soon. Oh! And he texted that he sent his half of the rent so it should be arriving in your account soon.”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably even though his couch was very comfortable. It was an internal discomfort, one that said he was a fool for taking payment before even meeting the guy, but he supposed refunds existed for a reason. He sighed heavily and reached for the plastic wrap concealing frosted sugar cookies that had been perching on his table for nearly half an hour.

Kelly slapped his hand away. He hissed in reply, but she was unmoved. “I told you to wait.”

“I’m hungry,” he growled.

“Do you have the roommate agreement I told you to write?” 

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s important.”

“It’s on the counter.”

Kelly grinned and strolled over to the island that separated the living room from the kitchen. On it rested a three-page stapled document. It was typed and professional looking, she was impressed. “It looks nice. I’m sure it’s fair? And has space for him to put his rules too?”

“I don’t get what’s wrong with a verbal agreement,” Geralt grunted. He crossed his arms over his chest to keep from making another dive for the cookies that were just  _ sitting there _ , teasing him.

“You’re bossy. Written agreements mean you can’t make things up as you go.” Kelly started to read the pages, but she was interrupted by the high chirping of Geralt’s phone alert. “Anything important?”

Geralt struggled to pull his phone out of his jean’s pocket. His face went from deadpan to concerted as his brows wove and his lip lifted in a half snarl. “He sent the money. In full.”

“Isn’t that good? Why do you look like he kicked your puppy?”

“I’d kill him if he kicked a dog. This isn’t malicious, it’s just dumb. He sent the money under  _ friends and family. _ ”

“So?”

“We’re neither. And it means he can’t get a refund if something goes wrong. I could just kick him out and keep the money.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Kelly scolded.

“Yeah, well, then there’s this.” Geralt held up the phone. Kelly drew closer and squinted to read the little note attached: 

_ Can’t wait to meet ya, roomie :) _

“What’s wrong with that?” Kelly chuckled.

“Mmm, he’s too informal. Fucking smiley-face. Like he’s twelve.”

Kelly rolled her eyes. “Would you take it easy? He’s not even here yet.”

A second later a rhythmic knocking came to the door. It wasn’t just two quick raps, or a series of thuds, but a full dozen hits in different patterns. Then an enthusiastic voice came through the thick oak door. “Helloooo? Anyone home?”

“No. No. No,” Geralt stood on impulse and his gold eyes went wide in panic. He hadn’t thought this through enough and the sounds piercing through into his sanctuary filled him with instant regret. 

“What? Did we forget something? Let him in!” Kelly hissed.

Geralt stood like a deer caught in headlights, dreading the optimism radiating off the voice of the stranger. He couldn’t explain his own sudden sense of panic.

So, Kelly hurried over and helpfully let the other man inside. 

“Jaskier! Oh my god you look amazing,” Kelly said as the man drew her into a tight embrace.

“Kel!” Jaskier’s mouth was as wide as it could go, as if he’d never seen something so refreshing in all his life as this specific friend. “You’re one to talk! I love those jeans. How long were you going to leave me waiting out here?”

Jaskier giddly passed the threshold, dragging his bag along behind him. It clattered on the polished linoleum of the entryway. 

“Just building anticipation,” Kelly giggled. “So this is it! Oh, and this is  _ him _ . Jaskier, Geralt. Geralt, Jaskier.” The brunette eagerly bounded between them and gestured her hands from one to the other.

Jaskier’s eyes had been on Kelly, the doorframe, the massive open room with white walls and picturesque tiles and fluffy white carpet in the living space, but once his gaze found Geralt he found it strikingly difficult to look away.

“My, my. Kelly certainly undersold you. I am Jaskier, which she said, but it warrants repeating. Geralt, huh? Wow.” He licked his lips and his eyes flicked up and down the full length of the man’s rather thick body. When selling the situation to Jaskier, Kelly had described Geralt as  _ shy.  _ That was one word for it.

For Geralt, his first impression was, rather incidentally, the blunt and certain notion that this man was gay. Flaming. He wore neon green– _ neon _ of all things–high-waisted pants, a mostly unbuttoned button-up, several rubber bracelets beside a silver watch, and polished oxfords. He spoke fast and with his hands flopping in all directions. All he was missing were rainbows shooting out of his ass.

Geralt didn’t have a problem with gay people, per se, but it struck him an unusual thing for Kelly to fail to mention. 

“Hmm. Nice to meet you. Take off your shoes.”

“Take off my…? Oh, alright. Suppose I’ll just get comfortable. Would you like to give me the grand tour first or–“

“First rule, no tracking dirt on my carpet.” Geralt pitched a thumb over his shoulder toward the living room and that thick white material that had caught Jaskier’s attention earlier.

“Oh, rules right away. Okay. Yeah I like this. Your whole…” Jaskier dragged out the word, cocked his head to the side and waved his hand–the one he’d extended that Geralt had ignored–in a circular motion. “Your whole thing. Very brooding. Very pointed.”

Kelly laughed nervously and waved the roommate agreement in the air so the paper rattling broke the silence that followed Jaskier’s words. “Geralt is straightforward, but you get used to it. He wrote up a whole agreement for you two to discuss.”

“Right! Good! I’m excited.” Jaskier clapped his hands together, then dropped at the hip to pull his shoes off. He set them near the door on the matt with the others and happily slid back over in his pure white socks. He left his rolling bag in the dining area off the entryway. 

Once he was settled, Geralt turned and made his way around the island and into the kitchen.

“Oh!” Jaskier and Kelly exchanged amused expressions as they hurried to keep up with the sudden motion.

“This is the kitchen. I’ve cleared three cabinets for you, if that isn’t enough, you’ll need to store anything else in your own room. Clean the stove after you use it, I don’t want my house on fire.” 

“Alright that sounds–“

“Buy your own food. Cook your own food. If I want to share I’ll let you know ahead of time.”

“Well actually-“

“Non-negotiable.”

“ _ Geralt _ , Jaskier here is actually a really good cook. You should let him make something for you sometime,” Kelly said. She widened her eyes in silent pleading for him to  _ play nice. _

Geralt glared back and for a long moment the two seemed to telepathically argue. Jaskier, amused by the whole ordeal, fought back the grin quivering at the edge of his lips. “It wouldn’t be any trouble,” he chimed in. “I don’t mind paying if that’s the issue. That reminds me, what do you do exactly?”

“Freelance,” Geralt said simply.

“Me too! I sell music, and, like, poems sometimes. Flavor text once in a while.”

“Wait, you work from home?” Geralt’s stare fell back on Kelly, who was suddenly less interested in meeting his gaze.

“Yeah, didn’t Kelly mention?”

“Mm,” replied Geralt noncommittally. “Anyway.” He turned and headed out onto his prized carpet. “This is the living room. You can watch tv in here, when I’m not. Never track mud here. Vacuum crumbs at once.”

“Really? Almost expected a no food policy,” Jaskier chuckled. Then his eyes fell on the wrapped plate on the dining table. 

“That’s because he likes to eat in here and he’d be a hypocrite if he told you not to,” Kelly chuckled.

Jaskier’s eyes flitted to Kelly. His hands rested on his hips, but his fingers stretched out in the direction of the plate. “Are those cookies?”

“They are. Homemade, mostly. I bought the frosting but fuck me, that stuff is impossible to make from scratch. Have at.”

Jaskier was on them then and promptly grabbed two, not caring how the excess pink frosting painted the hand holding them. His mouth closed around the first and he moaned in satisfaction and spoke with his mouth full. “Oh, ah, yum.”

Geralt glared, infuriated first blood had been drawn without him. Without drawing much attention, he stepped over and grabbed one for himself, which he held without eating as he continued his tour. 

“Over here is the balcony,” he announced. “I keep plants out here, do not water my plants. Otherwise, you’re free to use this area.”

Nearest the kitchen, just off the living room, was a large oak door. Geralt went around the couch and back toward it. He pointed at it and made sure he was making eye-contact.

Jaskier’s happy chewing slowed and he swallowed. His eyes darted about expectantly. “And that is?”

“My room.”

“Let me guess, none shall enter?”

“You already understand him,” Kelly joked.

Geralt remained very serious. “Even when I’m gone. Even if it’s an emergency. Never. You never go in here.”

“Just, uh, as a hypothetical–“

“Never,” Geralt growled.

Jaskier shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Okay, yes. Splendid!”

“Good.” With that Geralt started marching back to the opposite side of the apartment, closer to the entrance.

“I promise he lightens up once you get to know him,” Kelly whispered as she and Jaskier followed behind.

Jaskier laughed, his voice giddy. “Are you kidding? He’s fantastic. Yeah, he’s got a real presence.”

The two’s giggling stopped abruptly as they nearly collided with Geralt. 

“Hmm,” the larger man huffed as he looked down at them disapprovingly. Then he opened the door they’d arrived at to reveal a beautiful, open space bedroom. It had soft blue carpet, white walls, a window above the place a bed would easily fit. 

The only bit of furniture in the space was a small mahogany desk off to one side near the window.

“This is your room,” Geralt said. “I tried to get the stink of the last one out. He liked weed. A lot. But I think it’s clean now. If you don’t like the desk we can toss it.”

“Whoa!” Jaskier stepped past Geralt and spun about in the space. He couldn’t contain his elation. “This is nicer than the pictures! It’s perfect. I’ll put the bed there, that can be my work space. Yes, yeah, yep. I can see myself writing my next hit here.”

Geralt wasn’t sure what he thought of this loud, chatty man just yet, but the appreciation and excitement was a welcome change of pace compared to what he was used to in a roommate. “It’s a nice space. I’ll admit, I’ll miss the bath.”

“The bath?” Jaskier looked surprised toward a door he only just noticed on the far wall. “Wait, I get my own bathroom? Is this the master bedroom? Are you sure it’s alright?”

“I don’t need that much space,” Geralt grunted by way of explanation.

“Plus your rent is fifty bucks more,” Kelly added.

“Worth it!” Jaskier sing-sang as he opened the door and gasped. Not only was the bathroom full-sized, in lieu of a shower there was a large black porcelain tub the size and shape of a miniature hot tub. Complete with jets. “Ohhohoho!”

Geralt sighed wistfully. “It’s a nice bath. Keep it clean.”

“Yeah don’t clog the jets,” Kelly snickered.

Geralt shot her a look. “Gross.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jaskier said and clasped his hands behind his back. “Though, while we’re on the subject, what is your policy on  _ company?” _

Geralt’s brows wove at first as he tried to puzzle out what the other man meant. Then he sighed again, this time in annoyance. “Keep it scarce. In your own room. Preferably when I’m not home.”

“What sort of freelancing do you do, Geralt?” Jaskier asked as he pranced closer. Once again he found himself more ensnared by his roommate than the room. 

“General services.”

“Like?”

“Anything general.”

“Ha! You’re a private guy, that’s fine. I like a challenge.”

“A challenge?”

“Don’t let him bait you, Geralt,” Kelly said. “Be nice to each other and I can really see this working.”

“That sounds like a leaving line,” Jaskier pouted. “Are you leaving?”

“My ass is buzzing off the hook. It’s just a friend, but I promised to help her out today,” Kelly admitted. “But you two don’t seem like you’re going to kill each other so I think it’s safe.”

She pulled Jaskier into a long hug, then let herself be swooped modestly into Geralt’s hold for a second before they stood back to let her leave. 

“Play nice!” She said, then added for good measure, “Sign the roommate agreement!” Then she was gone.

Both men stood still in Jaskier’s new room, the atmosphere suddenly more awkward.

“There’s a bird,” Geralt said suddenly.

“A what?” Jaskier’s attention snapped up at once, happy for a distraction. 

“Well, I think there is. My old roomates said they saw it. I’ve heard the bird, but I’ve never seen the bird.”

“So there is definitely a bird, just a mysterious bird.”

“Mysterious to me. It comes to your window, supposedly. There is some old bird seed in the closet if you want to feed it.”

“So you’ve fed the bird, but never seen the bird?” Jaskier’s eyes went toward the window, as if hoping the alleged animal would be there. 

“Not me. My last roommate. I don’t even know if the bird is real.”

“Seems like it is,” Jaskier said. “Given the evidence.” 

“Hmm.”

“So, anything else I should know?”

“Don’t ever ask me where I’m going or where I’ve been,” Geralt said sullenly.

“I don’t imagine you’d answer me anyway,” 

“No.” With that, Geralt turned and headed out, cookie still in tow. Jaskier followed after like a puppy without a second thought.

“My stuff won’t be delivered until tomorrow. So you wanna hang out? We could talk or watch a movie or, oh, you’re going in your room.”

Geralt’s broad shoulders slid through the dark slit in the doorway across the apartment as he let himself into his own, mysterious bedroom. He closed the door behind him without another word and left Jaskier talking to the wood.

“Okay, yeah, woo!” Jaskier pumped his fists excitedly and took another look around the large, mostly empty apartment. “This will be fun!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know there wasn't a lot going on this chapter but *slaps the hood of the fanfic* this puppy is mapped out for the next eight chapters, including foreshadowing and backstory and sexual tension, all the fixin's. Plus I'm making a floor plan for the apartment because I don't know if I described it well.
> 
> Anyway, can't wait to update again soon, in the meantime I hope you enjoyed the chapter (and I'll be uploading unrelated porn one-shots all week). Leave me comments, I feed on them and I'm not opposed to begging for them like it's 2008.


	3. Watching through windows

On the first day, Jaskier sort of drifted airly around his new apartment. Geralt seemed intent not to reemerge, and that was well enough at first. Jaskier didn’t want to admit how fascinated he was by his new roommate, but he figured it would shape itself a problem sooner or later. For the time, he would be good and keep to himself. 

He slept on the floor of his new room on that first night. Light blared off the moon and rolled generously through his uncurtained window. It casted a smooth, glowing white light along the empty square of his blue carpet. He liked how the brightness illuminated the fibers like water. The shift of the clouds overhead were like reflections shimmering in a still pond. He wrote these artistic musings down in his little notebook. It wasn’t one of his favorites, just a cheap spiral thing with a puppy on the cover. One of hundreds he’d picked up over the years and the only one he’d brought on ahead of the rest of his things.

When words clogged up like the ink at the tip of his third generic ball-point, he gave up and tossed the notebook haphazardly under the desk he was still grateful for. He rolled onto his back and put icy blue eyes on the full curve of the moon peering back at him. Through the tidy white panes it looked more like a painting than the actual sky. Jaskier had heard that city lights polluted the view, that the country was better. While it was certainly true he’d seen richer nights–ones painted in nearly imperceivable glimmers of purple and orange, and decorated with litters of stars–this night was clear. A foggy blue sky draped cozily over a pearly moon. 

Jaskier exhaled slowly and felt comforted. This arrangement had been sudden and disorganized. He’d been incredibly grateful when Kelly had said she had a compatible option. Geralt, while he didn’t seem to quite agree with that assessment–was at least someone Jaskier wanted to know. He figured in time they could be friends. Geralt just had to warm up to Jaskier, it took some people a while, the musician wasn’t worried.

On the second day, his things arrived and Geralt was forced to emerge from his mancave, if only to cringe and mope and bark sudden, alarming– _and stimulating, was that voice stimulating to anyone else?–_ commands at the movers. Don’t scrape this, watch out for that.

“Do you mind if I put my TV out here?” Jaskier asked between directing the men setting up his bed and the ones bringing in boxes of dishes.

“What?” It wasn’t a sound of frustration, but one that said he authentically had not heard. Geralt looked up with a puzzled expression that was no far cry from cute. Woven brows twitched and he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, as if worn out from all the work other men were doing. 

“My TV. It’s bigger. Than yours, I mean. Same rules apply. I just thought you might like to share it,” Jaskier offered again, genuinely. He thought back to the contract he had ultimately ended up signing. He’d needed to make a few revisions to the more _unreasonable_ requests, but for the most part he hadn’t wanted to rock the boat. Geralt had a rule that he would share the living room if Jaskier conceded to watch whatever the white-blond put on. It was all well enough for Jaskier, who was more interested in learning his future friend’s tastes than he was in anything the TV itself could offer.

Geralt spared his small, out-dated tube television a baleful glance and shrugged. “Sure. I’ve been meaning to replace it anyway.”

“Excellent! You!” Jaskier pointed at one of the burly men leaving his bedroom. The man stopped cold, almost frightened by Jaskier’s balant enthusiasm. The musician chuckled, waved his finger on a bobbing wrist. “Yes, you. Bring up the television next and put it here. We’re replacing this old one. Poor thing should have gone out to pasture a decade ago.” 

Once everything was set up and Jaskier’s things were carefully placed just out of sight, the apartment looked nearly as untouched as it had started. Save for the giant TV in the living room, the hidden utensils and clothes behind closed doors, and the whole world Jaskier had built out of stacks of books and boxes in his bedroom.

He adored how rustic it looked. Still-packed layers of cardboard and potential, surrounded by piles of papers he’d pulled loose, unhung posters in rolls side by side on the carpet. Near his desk, wires poured out of open-lidded containers. Only his Novation drum machine and microphone were out and positioned on the wooden structure where he’d build up his sound space in the coming days. 

Geralt had commented that Jaskier had far too much shit, and while Jaskier was inclined to agree, he didn’t intend to be rid of any of it, though he would likely move anything extra to a storage space once the room was fully completed. For the evening he was done with moving chores and merrily went out to the kitchen in the hopes of getting to know his living buddy a little better.

A little known passion of Jaskier’s was cooking. He had learned all manner of techniques from both common folk and masters while abroad. Jaskier’s father, a wiry eccentric man named Daniel, was more bubbly and personable than Jaskier himself, and had made friends of every creed and caliber over the years. It had become something of a tradition for the two men to fill the days of his mother’s absence with visits to monks in the highlands where they made simple soups out of carrot and thyme, and gritty, sand-swiped trips to the windy shores of Greece where lively women with heavy, difficult to translate accents would pinch Jaskier’s cheeks and show him the _proper_ way to make bread.

Jaskier was confident Geralt would be taken in by the tastes the musician could craft, and soon they’d be talking and laughing, and Jaskier would have another friend, someone with whom he could more easily readapt to a country he had not seen in years. A place he had never been alone. 

Kelly had mentioned that Geralt hungered for meat like a starving wolf, so it was an easy choice to run down the road to the store and pick up the supplies for beef stew. In honesty, Jaskier cared none too greatly for either element, for stews and soups were things he associated with illness and cold and weren’t really suited for warm city nights, and beef–even when perfectly prepared–always tasted a bit gummy to his palette. But that wasn’t the point. He wanted to make something Geralt would like, a winning dish. 

Once he got home, however, he only got as far as putting the meat on to simmer and taking a knife to the potatoes when Geralt’s door swung open.

“Oh, there you are!” Jaskier came around the island. His sleeves were rolled up and he wiped his hands reflexively on the waist-apron he wore. “I’m making dinner. I thought you might...like...to…” Jaskier’s words slowed and died as he looked his roommate up and down. 

Geralt was fully dressed, leather pants, jacket over t-shirt, and–Jaskier was sure he’d seen wrong–something that looked an awful lot like a gun holster on his belt. The man was leering at Jaskier like he was a rodent that had just scurried across his prized carpet. 

“I’m going out,” Geralt said when the silence fell for half a beat.

“Oh, when are you coming–”

“That’s a question,” Geralt grunted and made his way for the front door. Then he must have realized his rudeness, because he snorted and added, “Don’t wait up.”

Jaskier flinched when the door slammed closed and the sound seemed to echo way too long in the lonely apartment. He looked to the sizzling meat and sighed. “Well, it’s better fresh, but I’ll just leave him some leftovers,” he decided. 

That night Jaskier slept in a bed. Unlike his other belongings, it was brand new, recently ordered, and its soft, pillowy stitches cradled him to sleep almost at once. His rest was dreamless.

When he woke the third day he felt heavy, like lead was melted onto his eyelids and was weighing them down. He woke in intervals, each few moments of clarity he scooted his lazy legs closer to the edge of the bed. Eventually he woke on his knees ont he floor with his head cradled on the end of the mattress and he realized if he didn’t get up he was going to cramp.

He staggered tiredly to the bathroom and for the first time realized the inconvenience of the bath. He’d bathed in everything from lakes to buckets, but when he was in America he was used to showers. He’d gotten attached to them in college and had come to associate them with first-world living. He rubbed his eyes and decided to make the best of it anyway.

Jaskier warmed the water to his liking and plugged up the tub. He sank into the black porcelain and was surprised at how the clean, comforting water managed to wake him even in its relaxing hold. More perky, he started inspecting the little row of buttons on the tub’s edge. The second one down started the jets with a whir that made him jolt, then chuckle. The bubbles lashed out and carried upward, turned the ordeal into something more like a soak in a hot tub. Jaskier liked the blast of the jets against his spine, how it tickled and throbbed sensationally in equal measure.

There was the temptation to stay longer, to perhaps spend the entire day submerged, getting to know the jets a little more _personally_ , but he resisted this time and washed himself, then promptly extracted himself from the tub’s tender hold. “We’re going to be such good friends, babe,” he said and gave the object a wink.

He tugged on some jeans and an oversized comic t-shirt–his lazy day clothes–and padded around his blue carpet barefoot for a while. He considered unpacking some more, but wasn’t in the mood. He eye-balled his guitar, a well-loved Martin, and thought about practising, but then bit his lower lip in concern. He didn’t want to drive Geralt off even more. Music seemed like something to ease him into. Once he saw what a great roommate Jaskier was, then he could be awed by the musician’s musical talent and honey-soaked vocals!

Jaskier decided to go out and get some breakfast. The stew was still there, still wrapped, still marked by the cheery orange post-it Jaskier had placed on it the night before.

A few knocks on Geralt’s door quickly found no one was home. In the end, Jaskier made some cereal and curled up on the couch with his guitar after all. There he stayed, alternating between strumming out tunes and watching old cartoons on Disney Plus. The night proved just as uneventful.

The fourth day was the most exciting, the day Jaskier had finished unpacking his many notebooks and instruments, and had gone about setting up his desk with filters and equipment and his compact laptop. It was also the first day he really got to interact with Geralt in any personable sense since the day he’d arrived. He didn’t realize how quiet his world had been until he walked out around noon and was actually met with the other man’s voice.

“Hey,” Geralt offered.

Jaskier stopped in his tracks on the way to the kitchen. His eyes darted around, looked for anyone else the stoic man could possibly be addressing.

“Hey,” Jaskier said slowly, in a measured tone. “I mean, hi!”

“Kelly wants to know if you want to come to group on Saturday,” Geralt said without looking up from his phone.

“Oh, um, group?”

“Hmm, card group. They play D&D sometimes too,” he said with the slightest hint of amusement. “But usually it’s Uno or Cards Against Humanity. Stupid shit like that.”

“More of a Rummy fellow yourself?” Jaskier jested playfully. He sauntered over and placed his hands on the back of the sofa, over the empty side just beside where Geralt sat.

There was an old Turner Classic film playing on the big screen before them, but it was muted and Geralt wasn’t watching it. It played a scene of cops firing off flashes from guns like pop-rockets. Little black and white gumshoes frantically wincing and running over wood-paneled piers.

“I am actually,” Geralt replied after a beat. “But I play what Kelly plays.”

“I’m really curious about how you guys met,” Jaskier said honestly. “I can’t imagine.”

“Surprised she didn’t tell you,” Geralt snorted. “She loves that story. Anyway, should I tell her you’re coming?”

“Yes! Absolutely!” Jaskier would have to remember to thank her, because she could have easily texted him herself, but instead had tried to instigate a lifeline of communication between the men and it had, if only slightly, worked according to plan.

That seemed good enough for Geralt and he started typing, but made no motions to say another word.

Jaskier wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. He gripped the back of the sofa and used his upper arm strength to heave himself over. He soared over the couch and landed on his ass beside the larger man. Jaskier bounced once, then crossed one leg casually over the other. “So, whatcha watchin’?”

Geralt, for his part, looked like Jaskier had just offended his ancestors. Perhaps he had. “Don’t do that.”

“Oh, I didn’t hurt it,” Jaskier scoffed.

“I don’t think the wood is that strong,” Geralt muttered, uncertainly. 

“Seems to be supporting us just fine.” Jaskier bounced a few times, testing the strength of the structure, but stopped when Geralt looked like he might have a panic attack. It was actually cute how frazzled the big man could get. Jaskier almost ached to know what other charming expressions the man could make.

Geralt rolled his shoulders to gather himself and reached toward the coffee table for the game controller. “I was just letting live tv run whatever. You can change it.”

He offered the device to Jaskier who took it gratefully. He had no interest in the television presently, but the gesture was sweet and carefree and made Jaskier’s chest rumble with the satisfying feeling of belonging.

“Actually, I thought I might go out and get coffee. Want to come?”

“No, thank you,” Geralt said, eyes retrained on his phone. Was he playing a game? Reading something? Jaskier leaned over a bit on reflex to try to get a peek, but Geralt sensed him and stood to get away.

“Are you sure? My treat!” Jaskier could hear his own voice getting desperate. He hated it, didn’t mean to let it leak, but the silence over the last few days had been killing him.

“I have stuff,” Geralt said vaguely as he wandered into the kitchen.

“Cool! Yeah, yeah, cool. Maybe next time!” Jaskier called out. He thought he heard a noncommittal hum of acknowledgement, but he might have imagined it. He stared at the back of the couch and plucked at a loose thread in the stitching. Well, he could still go out on his own.

It turned out a trip outside was just what he’d needed. He flirted a little with the barista, got his more-cream-than-coffee latte, and generally got to soak in the blare of horns and the chatter of strangers that powered him like gasoline.

He was reset to his usually chipper self. At least until he got home. 

It wasn’t a grand revelation, or shouldn’t have been. Jaskier opened the fridge to put away an extra schmear he’d purchased and found the place where the stew had been empty. He looked to the sink and found the bowl, only streaks of brown still present on the inside. 

Jaskier felt a little thrill of excitement. He couldn’t wait to ask what Geralt had thought of it. To allow that conversation to launch into one about his skills and where he’d learned them, to get a chance to offer to make anything for them to share. To get to know each other, an urge he had not felt toward a person so strongly in a long time, despite how clingy he could be toward everyone. 

But then he caught the scent. He’d almost missed it, but the kitchen smelled just a little odd, the aroma just off of good, like something delicious mingled with something old and stale.

Cautiously, like a victim in a horror movie, he approached the trash can. He pushed down on the swinging lid and peered inside. The scent hit him first, it wafted out, day old cold beef, discarded potato peels, coffee grounds. Then he saw the contents of the bowl had been dumped. Jaskier didn’t weigh it or anything, but it looked like the entire bowl.

His heart sank and a heavy weight settled in his throat. His brows wove in annoyance. _If he hadn’t wanted it, he could have just left it!_ Jaskier thought indignantly. But deep down he knew that wasn’t the point. Geralt had wanted him to find this, that’s why it was in the trash and not the disposal, crumpled post-it and all. He was making a point.

 _Stop it,_ the gesture said. _Leave me alone._

Jaskier turned and fled to the sanctuary of his room. He shrugged his jacket off onto the bed and sat down at the desk that had been a gift, but now felt like Geralt truly just hadn’t felt like carrying it to the trash.

The musician choked down a sob that threatened to rip up his throat. He aggressively rubbed at his forehead, lapped at his dry lips. Geralt was a bastard, but he hadn’t earned tears.

Jaskier felt an overwhelming surge of loneliness, not too far away from the feeling that had driven him back to America in the first place. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting or hoping for. He stared out the window. He had draped plain blue curtains to match his carpet, it made the room look younger and more feminine than most men would have preferred, but it reminded Jaskier of a clear sun-flooded sky blue and so it cheered him up to see it. 

He pushed the fabric back and saw that the night was pushing in, the last oranges and pinks painted the sky in inspiration, but he didn’t feel like working on anything. 

“Maybe this was a mistake,” he said. He thought about turning in early, when he heard a strange sound, like a rapid tapping.

His eyes flittered down to the bottom of the window, and there on the ledge, on the other side of the glass, was a tiny bird. It hopped side to side and pecked lightly at the glass. It had dark bars across its wings and side, branch-like black legs, and its face and chest were red like it had jumped into a lady’s blush and had a little shimmy.

Jaskier pulled out his phone and took a picture. Then he placed the device on his desk to free his hands. He gripped the edge of the window and carefully opened it. He expected the loud crack of the seal or the slide of the wood to startle the bird away, but the merry thing simply hopped over the ledge and walked back and forth on the inner sill edge instead. Jaskier locked the window into the open position, dragged over his chair, and sat back down slowly before the animal.

“Well, hello there. Brave one, aren’t you?” he whispered to it. He tilted his head to get a better look at it, and it turned its beady eye toward him to take him in the same.

Then the little darling chirped and Jaskier felt his heart melt.

“Goodness! Yes, that’s right. You’re the bird! Little bird. Bird is real. Okay, wait right here.” Jaskier gestured with his hands for the bird to stay, but it seemed to have no intention of leaving. He went to the door and looked back, it still stood there, expectantly. “Yes, good. Stay. Right. There,” he directed as he edged into the hallway.

He returned with some of the promised bird seed and cautiously moved back to the window to sprinkle a little beside the patient bird. It pecked away happily at his offering and Jaskier felt a large weight fall off his shoulders. He sat down and leaned in to watch.

“You’re so cute,” he praised. “I wonder if you’re someone’s pet? Well, I’ll need to call you something if you’ll be visiting. _Bird_ is a touch informal for me. Something cute then. Something brave? You’re a bold little thing. Red chested. Robin? No, I don’t think you’re a robin.” He moved his hands in circles around the bird, far enough not to disturb it and squinted. “No, you haven’t got the shape.”

Jaskier watched the creature for a while, relished in the bliss of finally having some company, no matter how small. He looked past the bird and into the increasingly starry night. The stars, though veiled in pollution, still shone in small clusters. The sight called to mind his favorite childhood book, _Peter and Wendy._ The bird didn’t strike as much of a Peter Pan, but he did remind Jaskier of Captain Hook’s great ship. A bold vessel, pirate territory, able to take flight in the film, red wood paneling–or at the least that was how Jaskier remembered it. “Jolly Roger? Jolly Roger is nice, yeah?”

The bird acknowledged him with a tilt of the head, a chirp.

“Yes! Okay then!” Bravely, the musician extended a hand and had to resist squealing, mouth agape, when the bird hopped into his palm. This was a good sign. He had tried to give up too quickly. “Right. Okay. I see you, Jolly. I’ll give it another go.” 

His eyes fell to a special notebook he kept in a plastic bag on the top of his desk. He recalled some of the words inside. _If I had given up, my life would have changed course that day._

Jaskier made a promise to himself then and there. He was going to stick this out, and Geralt was going to see him for the exceptional roommate he was, no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long dry spell, I've been working on this whenever I can. Next chapter brings in a bit of action and some whumpy Geralt.
> 
> What did you think of this chapter? For anyone wondering, Jolly Roger is a house finch and one of my favorite OCs in this whole story. I hope you like him.


End file.
